I found you on the beach; the Jersey shore. You sat with your knees to your chest and a cigarette embracing the cold evening air around you. A beer bottle kept you company as you stared off into the ocean. You were a beautiful sight to me right there, solitary and secret. It was inevitable that I’d force myself to come speak to you. I continued my jog; exercise was why I was out here in the first place. You looked up with your pretty blue eyes and smiled pleasantly. I knew immediately you weren’t from New Jersey. Jersey folk would find an awkward hello like my own to be equivalent to rape.

Your introduction of yourself was a mystery to me, and it always would be. You said you were Bert, just Bert. Bert with no last name. You said you’d lost it, the right to use it. When I replied with my own name, you picked up your friend the beer bottle and offered it to me. I sat down beside you, knowing I didn’t need a bigger temptation than that. I found it bizarre, the way you acted that night. I was a complete stranger to you and yet, your arms linked with mine and your head occasionally moved close to me, only to breathe out cigarette fumes against my face. If we hadn’t been conversing normally, I would have been convinced that you were drunk. You told me you didn’t have a home, you were a drifter. You said you’d always loved the beach so you came to the east coast. You had been traveling along for a few months. California was another choice, but you told me California wasn’t far enough...it wasn’t far enough from where you’d started out. One more puff of smoke tickled my nose.

When darkness surrounded us, I asked you where you were spending the night. You said you were staying near the ocean; you wanted to be hypnotized. The thought of you out in the cold disturbed me so I offered you a place in my hotel room. You surprised me with a bittersweet chuckle. I asked you why you laughed. You stared at me for a long moment and finally nodded in response to my suggestion, ignoring my question. The empty beer bottle that we’d shared and your extinguished cigarette remained littered in the sand. You trailed a few feet behind me on the walk to my hotel room. It wasn’t because you walked slowly; you told me when I turned to wait for you to catch up. It was because you needed to soak in as much of life as you possibly could. You told me a man never knew when death would smack him in the face. I vowed to myself, never again would I hasten my pace even the slightest.

We finally arrived at our destination, taking a long while but absorbing the night as we walked. I unlocked and pushed the wooden door, holding it open for you. You took your time strolling inside. I told you the location of the light switch, but you shook your head. You preferred the dark. The door slammed shut behind us, giving you your liking. Only dim moonlight through the blinds lit the room. I started towards my bed, gesturing for you to follow, but you stopped me with a hand on my chest. You said you wouldn’t sleep with me, if that was what I wanted. I frowned and shook my head. I pointed towards the second bed in the room. Your hand dropped from my body as you looked away. I heard you mutter an apology in the quiet voice of yours. I shrugged and continued to my bed. I didn’t bother changing my clothes as I slid under the covers. I stared at you standing there, right where I’d left you. It seemed like hours had passed before you turned and ambled over to my bedside. My heartbeat sped up when you lay down next to me.

I questioned why you suddenly changed your mind about “sleeping with me.” You told me you weren’t going to be sleeping. My eyelids drooped eventually but your icy blue eyes remained wide. They still stared at me in the crisp morning sunshine, into which I awoke. I rolled off the bed to start my morning routines but your voice halted me. You asked if I was gay. I pivoted on my heel to face you. Hesitantly, I mumbled a yes. You nodded and said you were too. It somehow connected us, hearing out loud a piece of information we probably already knew about each other. Following a brief second pause during which you pulled out a cigarette and a lighter, you requested me to come lie back down next to you. I, of course, obliged. I wasn’t surprised by the greeting I received upon lying down; a cloud of white breath, strong enough to make me cough.

You inquired whether people accepted me around here. I answered honestly. Most people at least pretended to. But there were only a rare few who actually treated me like just another guy. It was still better than being wronged because of it. You snorted and told me that nobody ever even acted like they accepted you. You told me you figured it wasn’t because you were gay, it was because you looked like an axe murderer. I laughed and told you no, you seemed like a nice guy. You told me you were a nice guy in an unusually grim tone. To avoid the awkward moment which threatened to follow, I let you know that I had to get to work. You informed me that you’d be by the ocean, where you belonged. I just nodded.

The thought of you never left my mind as I attempted to carry on with my day. Of course it didn’t, you were a very hard person to forget. On my lengthy walk to the beach, I managed to swipe a couple of beers from a nearby bar. I was thankful for the fact that I looked much older than my mere twenty years. You were resting in the same spot as you were the day before, in the same position. I could barely see anyone else on that beach, because you stood and smiled upon seeing me. I handed you a beer, and you almost snatched it away from my hands. You began to walk towards the harbor, at your own leisurely pace. Without ever speaking, you asked me to follow. Our shoulders brushed against each other as we walked side by side. It was when we got to a shady spot under the docks that you ceased your footsteps. You leaned against a post while I slid down onto my bottom.

Your eyes seemed to stare off into a distance, your thoughts far and away from me. It took some time for me to work up the courage and ask what you were thinking about. You gazed down at me, sighing. Your parents, you told me. You said I had no idea what it felt like to be unwanted by my parents. Your voice remained low as you spoke. You said your whole family was Mormon. They were disturbed when they realized you were interested in other boys. You told me about a time when you were a mere teenager and you got caught with one of your friends. You chortled dryly, recalling your father’s response. He apparently shouted that you’d burn in hell for it. You shook your head, telling me that you were just a kid. It was only a kiss, nothing bad or immoral. However, your parents thought otherwise. A loud breath left your lungs. You told me that was the moment you realized it; the world would never bear people with differences in taste. It was when you knew you had no real home. You embraced your beer bottle with your lips, swallowing a huge gulp and emptying it. Your blue eyes drilled into mine as you spoke your next sentence. Who wanted a homosexual sinner like you? If I were your parent, would I?

I nodded and whispered yes, I’d want you. You tossed your bottle to the sand, shaking your head and laughing slightly. I offered you mine as a response. You stared at it for a long moment before taking it in your hands. You threw it out of the way before falling to your knees in the sand. You held my head in place as you kissed me softly. When I pulled away instantly, you apologized. I simply smiled and leaned forward to kiss you back. One thing led to another, and my mind swirled when I found us both in my bed, nearly nude. We didn’t do anything; that would have been too embarrassing in the morning. It was a trouble-free kissing game. You seemed to tire out after a little bit, so we stopped.

In order to fill up the silence, I asked you what it felt like to wander around so much. You kept repeating how refreshing it was, and how wonderful it felt. Finally, you sighed. It was incredibly lonely, you said. You had enough money at the beginning of your journey, but it soon ran out. It was excruciatingly difficult to obtain food and clothes. You said you had to offer a trade to receive your basic necessities. I gasped upon realizing what you meant. You smiled at told me it wasn’t that bad once you were used to it. And it made you feel attractive and wanted anyway. Then, you kissed me again and thanked me. I frowned, not understanding why I deserved thanks. You told me because I didn’t make you trade. I promised that you’d never need to trade like that ever again. You shook your head and told me that was what life was all about. People were constantly bartering with death. All I did was hold you close to me, close enough to feel your steady heartbeat.

The days passed, colliding with weeks and then months. You stayed with me, in my long term hotel room, although I could never comprehend why. Our days together were repetitive, but still pleasant. After enough time passed, you began whispering three little words into my ear constantly. I’d hear them and smile, say it back. I’d say I loved you too. Neither of us entirely meant it, at least I didn’t think so. I sure didn’t mean it at the beginning. It just felt necessary to say. Yet, I could not understand why. I was never sure of anything around you. The only thing I knew for certain was that when we were together, I felt happy. And I thought you were happy too. Happy that you finally had a home, someone who took care of you and gave you everything you needed without ever requesting an exchange of any sort.

I was wrong in simply assuming so. I never really asked to make sure you weren’t miserable. You didn’t tell me either. I had to find out in a more difficult way than that.

It was a Friday night, my favorite time of the week. It introduced more than forty-eight hours to spend just with you. Work had continued longer than usual, so I was late in walking back. I expected to find you on the shore, where you were most of the time. My chest filled with anxiety when you weren’t anywhere in sight. I refused to jump to the scary conclusion that you’d left, that you got sick of me. You wouldn’t do that, not without saying good-bye. A bitter taste in my throat proposed another explanation as to why weren't there. Not caring about savoring every minute of life anymore, I ran at top speed to my hotel room. The door slammed open into darkness. I didn’t care if you hated the light, I flipped the switch anyway. I found you nowhere; I even searched beneath the beds. The thumping of my heart was barely keeping me alive. I needed you. I would have left the room to search outside had it not been for my excellent hearing. A small moaning noise from the bathroom was united with my ear. I’d heard that moan so many times, I knew it was you. I rushed to the bathroom. I kicked the door open, once again meeting the dark. But, this time I could see your figure. I flicked the light switch, only to cause myself to scream.

You lay slumped against the bottom of the sink, razor blade in hand. Blood spewed out uncontrollably of your other arm, and your face had been drained of almost all its color. I darted to your side and checked your pulse, just to comfort myself. I grabbed my First Aid kit, pulling out a roll of gauze. I wrapped it around and around your arm, until it ran out. Tears were streaming down my face the whole time. The humungous red spot edging against the gauze was scaring me. What was I to do if you weren’t okay? I moved close to you and let my lips join yours. Just like Sleeping Beauty, your eyes blinked a few times before opening completely and you whispered my name. If you hadn’t been hurt, I would have punched you in the face. I asked you why the fuck you would do something like this. You wanted to die, you said. You just wanted to leave this place. I asked you why one more time. Was it my fault? When you answered, it scared me. Because you said yeah, it was my fault.

I begged you to tell me what I did, but you started to cry. You were crying almost as profusely as you had been bleeding. I couldn’t do anything...or maybe I just didn’t. I waited for you to stop, you’d have to sometime. Eventually, you did. And when you did, I asked you again. Your tooth fell down hard onto your lip as you looked away. An annoyed sigh left your mouth, like it was obvious why you had done this. It really wasn’t, not to me. I pleaded one more time. You gave in and told me. You felt like you were using me. You felt like you were a burden on me, because I worked while you sat around doing nothing. You said you wished I would hate you. You wanted to die because I took care of you too well.

I didn’t get it. Did I ever get anything anymore? I just kissed you. I told you I didn’t feel used; I loved taking care of you. You sobbed one last time before your eyes closed and you fell over to your side.

You were alive. I carried you to my bed and I stayed by your side, making sure of that. I continued gazing at you when you awoke. You smiled at me for a long time and then told me you loved my eyes. They were like the ocean, you said. Not the color, though, because my eyes were hazel. The depth. My eyes were deep, according to you. You said you hoped you didn’t drown in them one day. After that you dragged me down with your uninjured hand. Something like gravity tugged my pants off. You could do wonders with just one arm. When you told me you loved me that night, I think you meant it. I hoped so, because when I said it back I honestly did.

Once again, time seemed to fly. A year whizzed by and you were still with me. The neighbors soon found out about us. They were those kinds of people who pretended that they were okay with gay relationships. Except, as more time passed, they stopped doing that. Constantly, I’d hear them whispering whenever they spied us kissing. Freak, they called me. It wracked my nerves. They never once made any rude comments towards you, at least not when I was around. But I think they annoyed you too. Because one early morning, finally, you told me you had to leave. You couldn’t handle this place anymore; this place that you thought was different from where you came from. You asked me to go with you, away from here. I couldn’t say yes. This was my home. I loved it, homophobes and all. I begged for you to stay, saying please a million times over. You nodded and you kissed me hard, your tongue participating. You said you’d stay here for as long as possible, for me.

But I should have let you go.
I should have skipped work.
At the very least, I should have asked why you picked that moment to tell me this.

Night blanketed the day quicker than I expected. I strolled home, where I thought I’d find you. I didn’t panic when I didn’t find you there. I guessed you were at the beach. I hurried myself, just in case. I found you with a cigarette in your mouth, blacking your lungs. Breathing a sigh of relief, I came closer. However, once I was near you, I spotted your right eye. There was a purpling bruise surrounding it. I worriedly asked you what happened. You put out your cigarette in the sand and blew smoke in my face. It was an action I’d grown to love and you usually did it with a fondness on your face. But your expression was grave. You informed me that our neighbors had beaten you up, and that it wasn’t the first time. I gasped in astonishment. Why hadn’t you told me before? You asked me why I hadn’t noticed all the small bruises on your body. You answered your own question and said it was because I was selfish. Because I didn’t love you. I begged to differ. I did, I knew I did. I asked you how you could ever think that. Didn’t you know how hooked I was on you?

Your blue eyes clouded over and you said you were sorry. Sorry for saying that. Sorry for everything. Sorry for meeting me. I shook my head and told you I was glad you met me. I attempted to kiss you but you shrunk away. Without a word you stood and pulled me to my feet. You edged close to me and whispered that you had to leave. You loved me, but you were only bad news. I protested until my throat twisted around itself tightly, disabling my speech. You told me you’d been telling me ever since you met me; everyone had to leave someday. Today was your day. Realizing what you meant by “leave”, I grabbed your hand and kept my grip firm. You gently broke away, telling me that you’d told me before. Life was all about bargaining with death. You wanted to stop negotiating and just...go...I discontinued breathing for a moment...could it have been more?

You smiled and brought your lips to my forehead. Then, you turned around and began to walk, slowly of course, towards the ocean. I stared on, seeing you become smaller. At first the water only reached your ankle. As you walked further, it reached your thigh, then your stomach, then your neck. At the final second, you spun around and I heard you cry out. You shouted my name; Gerard. You screamed that you loved me. Then, an enormous wave engulfed your seemingly tiny body.

I simply stared. A few tears may have slipped down my cheeks, but in time they evaporated. Only emptiness was left in me. I turned at my heel, crushing your used cigarette under my foot. I started to run, like I had been doing the night I spotted you. I jogged along the Jersey shore, keeping my head up. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even feel as sad as I should have. It was like you never even existed. And looking back, I wasn’t exactly sure. I wasn't sure of anything around you. Did you ever really exist?

Disclaimer:
Bert McCracken is NOT dead.
Based partly off of the 2005 indie film, Loggerheads.
I don't own Gerard or Bert.

I realize this might have been a bit long...and confusing...and maybe even a little boring. But Loggerheads was just a movie that completely moved me and it inspired me to write this. Tell me what you think, though.